18. Sophie

CHAPTER 18

SOPHIE

I t felt like longer than three weeks since I’d been to the salon.

Maybe because they’d changed the chairs in that time, tossed out the old ones that smelled of warm vinyl and brought in big black ones with heated seats.

Or maybe it was simpler: this had been our tradition, mine and Mom’s, since forever. Since we’d got ourselves back on our feet. We’d come every week since then, and I’d barely missed once. Now I’d skipped out three weeks in a row.

“Feels weird,” said Mom. She tipped her head back. “Not bad weird, though. Just different weird.”

I closed my eyes and breathed deep. “I think it’s the smell.”

“It’s the depth of the seats.” Mom scooted back so her feet lifted up. “The old chairs, I could lie back and soak in the foot bath. These ones are deeper, so I have to slide down.” She slid back down and planted her feet with a splash. “So, how’s things with Miles? Still swimming along?”

A sweet warmth flooded me at the sound of his name. Things with Miles had been wonderful. Perfect, even. He had his dour side, but he never aimed it at me. On the job, he was patient. On dates, he was fun. And at home, he was loving. Gentle and kind.

“It’s been great,” I said. “Just one thing missing.”

Mom’s brows went up. “What, you mean…?”

“No!” I flapped my hands to clear the air of all mention of sex.

“Don’t be uptight,” said Mom. “How do you think you got here?”

I covered my face with my hands. “I don’t think about that. And it’s not that, so can we move on?”

“What is it, then?”

I exhaled through my teeth. “Nothing, really. Or, nothing big. It’s just, we haven’t gone public at work. It feels like until we do that, we’re not quite official. Like he’s waiting to do it until we feel real.”

“Don’t you feel real?”

“I do, but…” I bit my lip as the technician shut off my foot bath. She shifted it to one side and dried off my feet.

“What color this week?”

“I don’t know. Pink.”

“Gold for me,” said Mom. “The glittery kind.” She stretched out her hand to pluck at my sleeve. “So, have you talked to him? Asked him what’s up?”

I frowned. “I tried, but he just said ‘soon.’ And then a call came in, so we dropped the subject.”

“Well, don’t.” Mom grimaced. “Men drag their feet. Things get good and they think, this is great. And they’re happy to leave it all just as it is. They don’t understand that we need to see progress. We need to feel like we’re going somewhere, or what’s the point?”

I laughed, but I wasn’t sure that was the problem. Miles didn’t seem complacent, content. He seemed almost… restless. Nervous, even. Sometimes when we were tired and just watching TV, I'd catch him staring through it, his lips a tight line. Or he’d glance at me, then he’d relax — but in a forced way, like he had to make himself do it.

“I get this sense like he’s waiting for some kind of sign. Something to tell him we’re the real thing. But I don’t know how to ask him what that might be. I’m not even sure he knows it, himself.”

“Then, you tell him,” said Mom. “Tell him what you want.”

“I’m afraid if I do, it’ll push him away.”

“If you do, he was never the right one for you.” Mom leaned up in her chair to meet my eye. “You need to be able to say what you want. If you don’t have that, what do you have?”

I knew she was right, but what I wanted was Miles. I wanted him all in and sure of us, and I wanted him to get there on his own. If I pushed, I’d be the one left second-guessing, did he really want this? Or was he humoring me?

“Talk to him,” said Mom.

I lay back in my chair.

We still hadn’t talked a full week later, with spring in the air and the streets damp with snowmelt. Twice, I’d edged up to what I wanted to ask, and twice I’d backed down, not to ruin the moment. Boston was alive with the first blush of spring, buds on the trees, the breeze sweet and mild, and every day felt like a beautiful gift. Maybe the best thing was to live in the moment. Let Miles take his time, and trust he’d get there. We weren’t “work-official,” but we weren’t hiding, out in the day at the farmers market.

“Lychees,” said Miles. “I’m never sure if I like those.”

I scooped a few in a bag. “You don’t? Why not?”

“They have sort of a floral taste. Like eating perfume.” He took one from the sample tray, peeled it, and ate it. “Mm. Yeah. Perfume. But not in a bad way?”

“You don’t sound so sure.”

“Is that your mom over there?”

My brain did a record-skip at the non sequitur. It took me a moment to see Miles was smiling, peering over my shoulder at someone beyond. I turned, and sure enough, Mom was there waving. She scooped up her shopping bags and made her way over.

“Didn’t you hear me? I was calling your name.”

“It’s pretty loud in here. Mom, this is Miles.”

He set his basket aside and held his hand out to shake. Mom pulled him into a big, crushing hug. To his credit, Miles didn’t flinch. He hugged her back gently, and let her go with a smile.

“Nice to meet you,” he said. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Likewise. But I have to say, Sophie didn’t do justice to how handsome you are.” Mom made a show of looking Miles up and down. “They sure grew you tall. Broad-shouldered, as well.”

“Mom!”

She winked. “I’m embarrassing Sophie.”

Miles looked a little embarrassed himself, his smile too wide, his ears turning pink. But he played it off gracefully, with a slight bow. Mom pawed through his basket, which he’d set on a shelf.

“What’s this, olive oil? Carrots and celery, onions and beans. Orecchiette… ooh! Minestrone?”

Miles lit up. “Yeah. Thought I’d make some for Sophie while the nights are still cold.”

“You should throw in some collard greens. They add some nice texture.”

And they were off, comparing their recipes. Debating the merits of Parmesan versus cashew cheese, sourdough or garlic bread, black or white pepper. Miles introduced Mom to the wonders of finger limes. She taught him her trick for crispy-topped mac and cheese. I picked up a box of frozen egg rolls, felt mildly guilty, and put them back. It was time I started cooking, now I had my own place. And finished unpacking, and got some bookshelves.

“You should try these,” said Mom, and leaned into the fridge. She pulled out a package of cheesy stuffed pasta. “They’re essentially cooked, so you just have to heat them. I can text you a recipe for a quick, easy sauce, and you’ll have a home-cooked meal you can’t mess up.”

Miles snickered, remembering last week’s sleepover, where I’d managed to screw up making us toast. Not even French toast, but just the plain kind.

“Thanks, Mom,” I said. “What do I need, tomatoes?”

“No, it’s a pesto sauce, so it’s simpler than that. All you’ll need is fresh basil, garlic, and pine nuts, and of course olive oil and Parmesan cheese. I’m not even kidding. It takes five minutes to make.” She grabbed a zucchini and tossed it in my basket. “Oh! And you’ll slice this and fry it in butter, add a sprinkle of salt, and there’s your side dish.”

“I see where she gets it from.” Miles smiled at Mom. “You should see us at work, before we get our caffeine — a bunch of old grumps in hi-vis vests. But Sophie comes in, and she lifts the mood. She’s always smiling. Full of pep. She must get that from you.”

Mom beamed with pride. “Well, I don’t know…”

“I definitely do.” I gave her a quick hug and she fairly glowed. She stuffed a handful of garlic bulbs into my basket.

“You know, you two, I have an idea.” She pointed at Miles, and then at me. “I’m having a few people over next Thursday, mostly just family and Sophie’s friends.”

I held up my hands, trying to stop her. I still hadn’t talked to Miles about where we were headed, and now here she was, putting him on the spot. Meeting the family was a big step, and if I put on the pressure?—

“It’s for her three-month mark. You know, on the job. She’s doing so well, and we’re all so proud, and we’d love it if you’d come and celebrate with us.”

“You don’t have to,” I said, before Miles could speak. “He’s probably busy. He?—”

“I’d love to come.” Miles glanced at me. “If it’s all right with you?”

“Yeah, I’d love that. But you don’t mind?”

“Mind? No, I’d love to come meet your friends.” His hands were full, so he bumped his shoulder on mine. “We’ve been working so much, all our dates have been food dates. I haven’t seen much of your life outside of work.”

I didn’t know what to say, I felt so many things: delight that he’d want to step into my life. A prickle of nerves — would he like what he saw? Was this what I’d been waiting for, our next big step? Family-official felt bigger than work. And Mom clearly loved him, and that was huge.

“Can I bring wine? Dessert?”

Mom fanned herself. “You really are perfect. Dessert would be great.”

I felt almost dizzy. Lighter than air. So this was how it felt to have your heart soar. I was soaring, all of me, up in the clouds. Miles wanted to see my life, and be a part of it. He wanted this, wanted me, all he could get. Maybe I’d imagined him holding back. Built up the work thing into something it wasn’t.

He set down his basket and slid his arm around me, and I couldn’t remember when I’d last been this happy.

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